


Mr. Tulip and the_____ing Good Wood

by Zoya1416



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Reincarnation, Repentance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Tulip reincarnated as a woodworm at the end of "The Truth." What were his next reincarnations like?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Tulip and the_____ing Good Wood

**Author's Note:**

> All characters belong to Terry Pratchett. I am only playing with them. The really good sentences are probably his: I am borrowing from the best.

Mr. Tulip knew, in a way, why he picked the particular chemicals he used to try to change the way he felt. In a city which sold Slab, Slice, Slam, Stab, Scrape, and Honk on every dark corner, he would invariably come home with a packet of baking soda and rat poison. But it didn't matter whether it gave him good feelings, pretty pictures, or three hours of severe and blinding pain. It was all so he wouldn't see the pictures in his mind.

Pictures of old men mumbling, old women weeping. Cold, the fresh acid scent of snow, gold candlesticks and potatoes. And of the first time he'd been sold because his family didn't have enough food, and the second...and the third one, in between the beatings, had taught him about beauty.

“Look at those ivories now—one is real and two are faked. Choose the real one.” And after more beatings, he learned the difference between the old way of faking, with bones, and the new way the dwarfs had with refined oil, chalk, and spirits of Nacle. And he had learned about finials, corbels, acanthus and chamfer.

Mr. Pin had thought that the lawyer's office in Ankh Morpork was nice, but he knew it was only a late eighteenth-century copy of the Baroque Style. The pillars in the hall were sixth century Ephebian with Second Empire Djelibeybian finials. He had nearly laughed. Mr. Pin had no idea, no idea at all, how easy things were to fake, and sell for good money, which was a shame, because Mr. Pin was almost always the one coming up with ideas.

Coming back to him now, without the distractions of baking soda or violence, were the memories of all he'd harmed.

DEATH was talking to him now, and he didn't have any beliefs except in his potato. But he began to think that he should be sorry for all he had done.

ARE YOU SORRY FOR EVERYTHING? 

And when he'd seen the life-timers of all his victims, he wondered how long it would take to be sorry for it all.

REINCARNATION CAN TAKE PLACE ANYWHEN.

He thought he'd need to go back and kill himself before he was born, but DEATH said it didn't have to be that way.

He began to shrink, and realized somehow that the reincarnation process was about to begin.  
Please, he thought, please let it be with wood. Let me do something with wood, I was always best with that.

Down in the ancient timbers of William de Worde's desk, a woodworm chewed its way contentedly, because reincarnation enjoys a good joke like anyone else.

The woodworm thought: this is ____good wood.

And in his next life, he would be a elm-borer, and then in the next a hedge-hog whose home was in the wood and scrap piles. And after that a squirrel running up and down, and later... and later...

A man was showing his son how to use the V-tool for outlining and decorative touches. His voice was gentle and he smiled at his son. The man was known for the astonishing beauty of his pieces, a master craftsman who taught others how to create. He gave away half his income to the charities of the city, and did repairs for them. He taught beginners for free, before they had to pass into the Guild Hall. He built furniture, and learned design, and then architecture. And he lived a long, long, humble life, and his example spread not only to dozens in his lifetime, but to hundreds after that.

When he lay on his bed dying peacefully with his family around him, he noticed the scythe of the figure first. 

“That's a good scythe you've got there. The silver work's craftsmanship if I ever saw it.”

THANK YOU. MR TULIP LIKED IT TOO.

Mr. Tulip? He said as he began to fade.

NO ONE YOU KNOW. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU BELONG?

Do they have a heaven where they need wood carvers?

OH, I CAN DO YOU BETTER THAN THAT. I THINK THE WREN FAMILY IN WILTSHIRE IS EXPECTING A BABY.  
And the woodcarver smiled happily as he was collected.


End file.
